


An unexpected call (the beginning of a happily ever after)

by BrytteMystere



Category: Don't Take This Risk (Poison Apple Tales), Poison Apple Tales (Author)
Genre: (JUST HINTS IF YOU SQUINT), Author regrets nothing, But then this is based in a First-Person POV game so, Codependency, F/M, HEA, Happily Ever After, I can't believe I'm a character here, I can't believe I've written this, I wasn't, Love Confessions, Love at first call, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Risky Love, Self-Insert, Two broken people fall in love, What Was I Thinking?, Wishful Thinking, Yeah I'm a character in this fic, author regrets everything, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrytteMystere/pseuds/BrytteMystere
Summary: Maybe it was just her collected good karma finally paying off, or maybe it was just a quirk of fate.He found her.
(Based on Ending 7: Risky Love)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on the otome game “Don’t Take This Risk” by Poison Apple Tales, more exactly on the path that ends with ending 7, “Risky Love”, which so happens to be my favourite.  
> Warnings: Mentions of suicide, suicidal characters, hints at child abuse, depression, self loathing, unhealthy relationship due to both being messed up people with a high tendency to codependency. Also, well, self-insert. But then, in “Don’t Take This Risk” I played as myself, so... yes, I’m a character in this fic.  
> Btw, this is unbeta'd.

          Brytte stared at her phone, seeing the numbers of the digital clock change with every passing second, waiting numbly ‘till it was the proper time to leave the classroom.

          It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested in Terminology...wait, no, _she wasn’t_. She didn’t exactly _dislike_ the class, but she wasn’t _interested_ in it, either. Not that she felt interested in many things, beyond having something to entertain herself and kill some time.

          Her life was the same apathetic mess it had always been, and she could do little but drift through it all while trying to find a place she could exist in. Since merely wishing for it would get her nowhere, she had found herself studying something she felt she wouldn’t completely fuck up, something she hoped would give her a job that would pay enough for her to live comfortably, if not in luxury: _Translation, and interlanguage mediation._

          Yet the degree was filled with lessons she couldn’t care less about, from Catalan– _and why, gods, **why** couldn’t she get rid of that bloody language already, she was supposed to be free of it, she wasn’t supposed to have it imposed on her at university, yet there she was_ –to Terminology, both needed classes, she knew, and still, lately she couldn’t muster the slightest bit of enthusiasm for literally _anything_ , unless it was reading fics, and she had ran out of the ones that interested her, not feeling well enough to write more of those herself. Deadlines at the very least got her pulling all-nighters if needed to finish those assignments that were absolutely mandatory, but beyond that? _Nothing._

_19:00_

          _There it was_. Around her, her classmates started gathering their things, and she waited five whole minutes to stand and leave the classroom, all her things having been packed beyond the classroom book and her phone, both of which she hadn’t bothered getting back in her backpack, merely carrying them ‘till the main hall of her faculty, where she put everything back in place.

          Her coat and earbuds on, and Celldweller’s _Jericho_ booming in her ears, she made her way towards the little flat her mother mercifully paid for her, once they both realised that the constant travelling from the city Brytte went to college at to the city their small family–just Brytte’s mother and little sister–lived in was far more expensive than just her living at the same city her college was at.

          She had to nonetheless take odd jobs here and there, because her mother could barely bear the weight of both rents alone, but it was somewhat nice, to have a place to call her own–even if it did get quite lonely at times and her overactive mind had a much easier time making terrifying scenarios up now that there wasn’t the familiar background noise of her mother’s newest telenovela, or her little sister’s newest YouTube obsession blasting from the living room, the TV far too loud for the thin walls to keep its noise out.

          She arrived, the comforting sound of her door unlocking at exactly as many turns as she had left it locked giving the young woman some peace, just as receiving no answer to her shouted _“I’m back!”_ did. She was being silly, she knew it, but she couldn’t keep herself from checking the two rooms, the bathroom, the kitchen and the small living room, every closet and every dark corner, turning on all the lights in the process, just before she returned to the door out, locked it, and made the whole way backwards, turning off all the lights ‘till only the ones from the kitchen to her room remained.

          Making a quick salad to eat–because she couldn’t bother to make herself anything else, and really, she wasn’t _that_ hungry–, she took a coffee with two full spoonfuls of condensed milk, while she let the cucumber marinate a bit in the lemon juice and salt, even if she could almost hear Henry’s voice telling her what an atrocity eating _that_ much condensed milk was, especially when one of the good coffee pods had been used.

_‘I bought it so I can take as much as I goddamn want!’_

          She wasn’t sure if she had said that aloud or not. it wouldn’t have mattered, anyway, for there was no one to hear her or make weird faces at her for talking to herself. _One of the perks of living alone_ , she mused to herself. Thinking aloud wouldn’t get her any weird faces, and she didn’t have to contain herself from doing it. Regardless of her wandering mind, she snapped a picture of her salad, sending it to her mother.

_“See, I’m eating.”_

          There was no answer, but then, she hadn’t expected one. Her mother tended to check her messages much, much later, and she fully expected to get a call with a full on lecture about why she really should eat more, which she would ignore ‘till the weekend, when she would actually bother to make something more elaborate, like a lasagne, or whatever.

          And yet, half an hour later, once she had finished doing the dishes (and now, wasn’t it _nice_ , to have only the dishes she herself had dirtied to clean, instead of the whole mountain of dishes her _beloved little sis_ used to pile on her whenever she wanted), her phone started ringing. Distracted as she was–what with thinking about a story she had read once and wondering if she would be able to find it again, since she wasn’t able to remember the title or the author–, she answered without even looking up who was calling, which she would have usually never done, expecting to hear her mother ranting off in Spanish just to hear instead...

          “H-Hello?” said her caller, his voice sounding so cool and alluring it baffled her, at the same time it made her wonder if she was maybe being pranked, because _seriously_ , why would a guy who sounded like _that_ ever call _her_ on purpose if not to prank her? “This is... this is the suicide hotline, yes?”

_‘Wait, what!?’_

          So her mystery man wanted to _kill himself?_ And he had somehow just so happened to get _her number_ , of the many the country surely had, searching for someone to keep him from doing so?

_‘What kind of sick cosmic joke am I being put under?’_

          “Um...no. It isn’t,” was all she could say, once she realised she was maybe taking too long to answer.

          Because, _for real_ , who would ever call _her_ , as she currently was, to get themselves _talked out_ of killing themselves?

_‘But then, am I not the one everyone went for emotional support? No, wait, what am I even saying? **Who**? I’m the one with the emotional mess, not the one that solves it...’_

          “ _Oh_. I see,” answered her mystery man, and somehow in his voice made her uneasy enough to rethink her answer. “Yes, this is clearly a sign that I should not  have called...it  was my mistake.”

          And yet...maybe _this_ , this...casual mistaken call, could _this_ be the answer to her loneliness? Here she had a person in _need_ , just like she herself had often been in need, and wouldn’t she have loved to have someone to hear her out? Someone to make everything okay, if only for a little while? For all she knew, the guy, unlike her, wouldn’t fear the possibility of _pain_ enough to keep himself from actually taking his own life.

          “I will hang up now,” said her mystery guy, with a certain tone of... finality? She didn’t like it one bit, and so her mind rushed over for a way, _any_ , to keep him from leaving her.

          After all, fate, or destiny, or mere randomness had put him in _her path_. She had just found him. He wasn’t getting off so quickly, _no sir_. If only to keep herself from returning to the utter loneliness of her empty flat, she would do her best to keep him from hanging up.

          “Uh, just kidding! Don’t...don’t hang up.”

          “Hmm. Well...all right,” he said, clearly not convinced, and yet being kind enough not to call her on her quite obvious lie. But then, she wasn’t used to talking to guys like this, so...

          “I was just thinking, _do you think anyone could ever love me?_ But I realize now that’s a useless question. I already know the answer to that. I don’t want or need an empty reassurance. Pretty words mean nothing without heart. And I will never have anyone’s heart. No one will ever love me... Farewell.”

          It was like an arrow piercing her heart, just like one of those seemingly random, but devastating (if temporal) pains that sometimes accosted her, a feeling so _sudden_ it left her breathless and exhilarated at the same time, because this man... This _mystery man_ of hers was...

_‘He **needs me**. He’s desperate, he’s at the end of his rope... My mystery man could **want me**.’_

          Weird. She had never felt _wanted_ by anyone, or at least no one _sober_ , and at eight months ‘till 20, coupled with her introverted nature, she hadn’t really gotten out all that much, remaining unseen and forgotten, if not directly overlooked by those few people she had ever felt attracted to, even when she had put all her efforts in trying to fix her appearance, the face that even being completely, _certainly_ , female, still reminded her far too much of the one man on Earth whose death she kept actively wishing for. A man that she, right then, with her mystery man at the other end of the line, was most absolutely _not_ going to think about.

          “I love you!” She said, recklessly, without really taking her words into account. And _why would she_ , really?

          She could love this man. He sounded nothing at all like that... he sounded _nothing at all_ like the Monster™, his voice seemed _kind_ , and she had not missed the slight French accent. Fate had given her a perfect chance, and she wasn’t going to mess it up. It wasn’t like he had seen her face, and thinking about it, as much as she liked–well, _couldn’t help but_ –berating herself, she knew, _knew_ that she wasn’t utterly awful-looking. Not a model, certainly, and she had met hundreds of girls far prettier than her, but... None of them where _there_ , now, where they? Her mystery man was hearing _her voice_ , and she was good with words. She trusted her words. It was all she had had, many times.

          “Eh?” was the startled answer to her sudden declaration, and for a whole second she expected him to tell her to fuck off, to tell her it had all been a joke, to hear again a friend of his snickering in the background, laughing over how stupidly _needy_ , how _easily wooed_ , the freaky bookworm was. But it didn’t happen. No. “Do you really mean that, Miss?” were his next words, sounding so excited about it she couldn’t keep herself from smiling. “Do you love me?”

          How _couldn’t_ she? He was clearly looking for someone to love, or maybe just someone to love him, and as much as she doubted she had ever fallen in love with anyone–for whom,  who would have bother to pay _that_ much attention to a freaky bookworm, with her head in the clouds and dreams too far from her station?–, she felt that maybe, just maybe, she could learn to love him. And really, if some quirk of fate had brought him to call _her_ in his hour of need, she wasn’t going to complain about it. It could very well be her _only chance_ to get someone to need her like this.

          She needed to be needed, and she had a man desperately _needing_ her, if only for as long as whatever down he was going through to make him want to die passed. It was awful to think about it, to _wish_ for it, but... maybe... maybe he was like her. _Maybe he was like her_ , and the dark emptiness that currently threatened to drown him would never leave, not truly. Maybe he was just worse at distracting himself from the worst of it.

_‘He can be **mine** ,’_ she couldn’t help but think, and as absurd as the idea of ‘owning’ someone, in any way, seemed, it was also absurdly pleasing.

          She had never been a saint, though. She had known something was _wrong_ with her, because the Monster she unfortunately shared blood with had _broken_ something deep, deep within her, so there were no news there. She was a _Slytherin_ , for fucks’ shake. She could, and _would_ allow herself to be selfish.

          “I... want to see you,” were his next words, and her world, for the second time in their conversation, seemed to turn on its axis. “Please, come see me, Mademoiselle...”

_‘Should I? Could I? Just go see this Mystery Man of mine?’_

          “My lovely Mademoiselle...” said him, and even if it was just a phone call, and he surely couldn’t see her, she felt the need to duck her head down, as if to keep him from noticing the blush that was spreading through her cheeks. She so loved to be told nice things. It had been such a rare situation, after all, to be complimented instead of mocked... He even seemed happy! “What is your name? _Who are you?_ Tell me who you are...”

_‘He sounds so excited... So needy... Should I? Should I? Should I, really?’_

(It’s time to be careless. Who cares? Who _cares?_ He makes me feel nice...)

          “I’m Brytte,” she said, trying her best not to sound as if she was expecting him to mock her.

_‘I’m Briggitte. That’s my name. But I like this nickname. I’ve been using this nickname a lot. If this is nothing more than a game, then maybe... Maybe it wouldn’t be as easy to mock me with this nickname. It’s pronounced like ‘bright’, isn’t it nice? Better than ‘Baby’ or whatever other nonsense ‘Briggitte’ is usually shortened as.’_

          She knew she was rambling, if only mentally. It was just... She was nervous. And then, _then_ , he was saying her name.

          “Brytte...” Somehow, he had managed to pronounce it correctly. If she hadn’t been convinced that him calling her was more than a stroke of luck, _that_ would have certainly sealed the deal. She wouldn’t even care if he was some kind creepy stalker. As long as he didn’t remind her of the Monster, she was ready to love him to the ends of Earth, or at least do her best to learn how to do so. “What a beautiful sound,” continued him, not a second after saying her name for the very first time.

_‘Not as beautiful as your voice,’_ she thought, but thankfully manged not to say out loud.

          “Brytte, will you come see me?” He said then, his voice entrancing her in such a way she would have jumped off a cliff if he had told her to, right then and there, disregarding the most possible pain she would suffer once she finished falling, if only to keep him talking to her like that. _Pronouncing her name like that_. With such a reverence it took her breath away. Making her feel as if he, too, could _love_ her.

          Love her like she had only read in stories. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Her very own fairy tale? But then, he could also be a killer, and yet she felt she wouldn’t mind. She would only have to hope that, if he _was_ , indeed, a killer, and she merely his chosen victim–disregarding the stupid happy feeling pooling at her stomach, because someone would have still _chosen her_ , **her** over everyone else, taken the time to entice her like this–, he would be merciful and do it painlessly.

          “All right,” she said, mentally choosing to go along with her decision, no matter what happened. She would just have to leave a note behind, telling her mother how much she loved her, both her and her little sister, as annoying as she could be many times over, just in case her life ended that very night. After all, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t written such things many times, letters she would wish to leave for her family if her life met its abrupt end. She had always torn them all to pieces, unneeded, but she remembered the words, or she could just make them up in the spot.

          Brytte had always been better improvising when it came to the written word.

          “I’ll be waiting,” he said, and she wanted to giggle happily, because she still couldn’t believe how someone could sound so _happy_ for her impending arrival. “Oh,” he continued, just as she expected him to hang up. “Let me give you the directions to my house. Where are you coming from?”

          It was so cute of him. Clever, too, because she would have probably just realised that she didn’t really know where to _go_ once she had locked her house behind her. So she told him, and found out he lived close to where she had lived during her first year in the city, which just so happened to be at the opposite side of where she currently resided in.

          “Don’t worry,” she had told him, her car’s keys jingling as she turned them around her fingers. “I’ll take the car. Just give me... Twenty to twenty-five minutes. See you!”

 

          The whole way to him she was so nervous, so _excited_ , maybe, that she only realised she hadn’t left any note behind, nor had she taken a coat with her, and she still didn’t know how to turn on the heater of her aunt’s car halfway to his house.

          “Bah, whatever,” she said to herself, humming quietly because she hadn’t remembered to connect her phone to the car’s radio to serve as musical background and she certainly wasn’t going to risk having an accident just to turn it on when her mystery man was waiting for her. She could even ask him for something hot to drink once she got to him, or for a blanket, she could do well with both. “Or maybe he could hug me? Ahhh, who knows, who knows, who knows?”

_‘No, no, wait, I shouldn’t talk to myself, he’ll think I’m crazy or something. Ahhh...’_

          “Here we are,” she said, ignoring her own warning, once she reached his road. His house seemed quite nice, and fate was seemingly smiling at her, or maybe it was just her good karma getting fate to play nice, because she found somewhere close to park, and in seemingly no time she was at his door, shivering because, well, she really should have gotten a coat, and knocking, three short times in a row.

          “You really came,” he said, amazed, and _gods_ , but his voice sounded even better in person. Also, for what she could see of his face–what with the... was it a blanket over his head?–, he looked nothing at all like the Monster, which was enough to put him right into her _Absolutely Datable_ list.

          He moved to envelope her in his arms, drawing her against his chest in an embrace, and she felt instantly grateful for, at long last, confirming that no, he was not trying to play her. And, well, he was handsome, had an awesome voice that made her insides tingle and seemed actually delighted for having her around, _and_ she was still feeling rather cold while he was warm and definitely hugged her in such a way she felt positively _cherished_. So she hugged him back, took her time taking in his scent, which wasn’t bad at all, making the tingling feeling in her tummy become even stronger, almost dazzling her as the knowledge that a man like _him_ , for some unfathomable reason, wanted a girl like _her_ in his life finally _soaked through_ her muddled thoughts, in a sense.

          She could have stayed there the whole night, just in his arms, the door still open behind her, the cold air still rushing by her back, his warmth keeping her from trembling. Just soaking up as much of his presence as she could, before he got his senses back and threw her away like any sane person would do. But then, he didn’t _really_ know her, now, did he? He didn’t really know what a mess she was, what with her chronic depression and the medication she couldn’t usually bring herself to take, with her overly delusional mind and her weird sleeping schedules. Maybe she could keep herself mellow, toned down, be whatever he wanted right then, right there, at least until they found something they could bond or obsess over, like had happened with the few friends she had made last year, before they had deserted her to go live in the United Kingdom (well, not really _deserted her_ , but some days it bloody felt like it).

          Hadn’t she once dreamed of being an actress? She could be one, for him. As long as he gave her his love, she would be whatever he wanted her to be, within the limits her pride allowed, of course. As much as she felt they could _become_ together, she knew perfectly well that there were things she wouldn’t do for him or anyone.

          “Come, come, sit,” he said, far too soon for her taste, and yet having him close the door behind her–being out of the cold air’s reach–was rather nice. “I can’t believe you really exist...”

          He led her to his room, not releasing her hand even once they had settled on the edge of the bed, and _that_ was even better than being away from the cold air. His hair, even longer than her own, was several shades fairer than his pyjamas and his blanket, his fair skin just _fitting_ in with the rest of him, and she didn’t even try to keep herself from smiling, because she couldn’t believe that _he_ existed, either.

          She felt warm, _happy_ , in a way she had only known whenever her absolute favourite fanfics were updated, the whole situation feeling as surreal as it felt _right_ , and she wondered to herself that if she was in any way having nothing more than a dream, she wouldn’t mind not waking up, ever. Especially when taking into account that she couldn’t recall her dreams unless they were very bad nightmares, and even then, not for more than a few hours. The mere idea of losing him, even if he truly was nothing but a figment of her imagination, hurt badly enough to make her hold his hand more tightly, which she guessed could be a bit painful, not that he gave any sign of minding, his smile even widening a little bit.

_‘He seems happy!’_

          “You are so beautiful!” he told her, and she could feel herself blush, because the compliment seemed genuine, and she _did_ feel beautiful, there by his side. Maybe she could reach Miss Universe level just by osmosis, sitting there by his side, holding hands.

          He certainly seemed to be the most handsome man she had ever seen, even with half of his face obscured by the red blanket on his head. He was stroking the back of her knuckles with a thumb, and Brytte could almost hear her own heartbeat speeding.

          “Can I fetch you anything? A bit to eat, a glass to drink?”

          She would have said _yes, please_ , but that would have meant him releasing her hand, wouldn’t it? And she most definitely didn’t want him to leave her, even if only for a moment. She wanted him _there_ , by her side, _with_ her. She wasn’t _that_ hungry or thirsty, anyway. They could eat later.

          “If you’re cold, I can _warm you up_ ,” he said, chuckling softly, _oh_ , but wasn’t that _tempting_. The only question left would be if she would truly be as reckless as to accept such a proposition.

          It was usually easy, if not nice, keeping herself from acting on her desires, especially if they were in any way related to sex. But then, this mystery man of hers had wormed his way into her heart and mind, getting her to do things she normally wouldn’t even think of doing. But then, she hadn’t slept much lately, and her mind was muddled. Not to mention, his _presence_ made her _want_ to be reckless.

          “Please do!” She told him, shoving her doubts out of a figurative window. She had brushed her teeth not long before he had called her, because her favourite salad sauce, lemon juice and salt, always made her teeth feel funny, so she always brushed them after eating it, so...

_‘You’re rambling, stop rambling, oh gods, he’s really going to kiss you...’_

          And he _was_ , what with shifting closer, and lacing an arm around her shoulders, their faces so close she could feel his warm breath on her lips when he spoke then.

          “I love you so much...”

          “I never want to be apart from you,” she said, too dazzled to bother herself with how pathetically _needy_ she sounded.

          His lips where so close... She hadn’t kissed anyone since _high school_ , already two years ago, and even then, she and the guy in question had been drunk. Before, at a shabby disco her mother had manged to get her to go, the girl she had kissed had been high, and she herself had had several whisky shots already, the alcohol muddling her thoughts. Both had been... nice, she guessed, in their own ways. But it wasn’t like she could have had any long-lasting relationship with either. Yet here she was, sitting with a rather good-looking guy, in his _bed_ , not a drop of alcohol in her–and nothing on him either, she would have sworn it–, about to get her first _proper_ kiss.

          “Stay with me forever, mon cœur. You know I could drown in your eyes,” he said, and at that point in time she would have sworn him her soul if asked. She loved how he couldn’t seem to keep himself from dropping some French, giving her more reasons to keep studying the language regardless of how shitty the teacher for it was, and as much as she felt her dark brown eyes weren’t much of an attraction, right then and there, with him and his alluring words, she could imagine her eyes were like Skandar Keynes’, darkly attractive in a way she couldn’t imagine her own being.

          And she couldn’t wait, even if a part of her wished for _him_ to start it, as it happened in many of the stories she had obsessed over through many long, lonely nights. So she kissed him. She _kissed him_ , and it felt as if his kiss would consume her. She was sure, though, that she would have happily allowed herself to be so. His kiss was like a slow burning fire, warming her lips and spreading throughout her body, chasing away the hollow _emptiness_ that had become her constant companion, and she wasn’t sure what delighted her more. His kiss, surely, as intoxicating as all her favourite activities mashed together.

_‘I want him, I want him, I want him... Oh gods, I want him so much...’_

          “There’s so much I want to do with you. So much I want to know about you...”

          She was as if under a spell, her whole body tingling, mind empty of all worries and heart beating fast, as he approached again, initiating their kiss this time around, and she moved to kiss him back, following his lead because he was clearly the more experienced of the two, and she simply liked it better like that.

          She felt weightless, when he kissed her. As if the whole world around them had banished, only the two of them remaining. It was needy, desperate, all _consuming_ , and she _loved it_. Had they not needed air, she would have been happy to spend her whole life kissing him. Heck, if she had to die, she would gladly do so like that, breathless from his kisses. It seemed like an awesome way to go.

          “I want to know _everything_ about you,” he said once their second–or was it third?–kiss ended at last, voice hoarse in such a way it made her want to lick her lips, maybe even kiss him again.

          No. _No, no, no_ , if she started talking about herself, she would probably just tell him _everything_ , for real, and he would end up feeling disgusted at the broken mess she was.

          “I’d rather hear more about you,” she said instead, which was true.

          “What do you want to know, love?” he asked, and she did her best to not shiver delightfully at being called that, _by him_. Gods, but she still couldn’t comprehend her luck. How could a man like him like– _need_ –someone like her?

_‘Everything, everything, everything...’_

          “Is that a blanket on your head?”

_‘Woah, Brytte, smooth!’_

          “Hm? Oh, yes,” he said, and she felt like face palming, because _really_ , why did she have to have such a Captain Obvious moment. “I can’t say I felt like getting out of bed as of late. Or having a proper meal,” he continued, and she felt her heart flutter, because, _whoa_ , they were _in sync_ and she _loved it_.

_‘Isn’t that just... Really? Bonding over such a thing?’_

          Ignoring her own thoughts, she focused on his last words.

          “Until now.”

_‘Ohhh, he needs me, he needs me, he wants me...’_

          “Speaking of which...darling... Why do you love me?”

_‘I need someone to care for too. Someone to pour my whole being into. Someone who’ll need me as desperately as I’ll need them. I felt that someone could be you, I felt it, I felt it, I felt it...’_

          “I just felt like that way,” she answered simply.

          “Mmm...that’s quite dangerous,” he said, as if mulling her words. They were true, though. She had felt and she had acted, and there she was, by his side. “I could be a killer for all you know,” he said, as if she hadn’t bothered to consider that possibility. She kept quiet, though, because telling someone who not long ago was seriously considering taking his life that she would gladly have him as her very own angel of death seemed way too callous, even coming from her. “But don’t worry,” continued him. “Even if I am, I wouldn’t kill you or anyone else you care for. _Because I love you._ ”

          She hadn’t missed his way of wording that. The explicit implication in it. She also couldn’t bring herself to care. After all, she had wondered many times if she would be able to love someone that way, and she had always came with a resounding _yes_. He had also promised not to kill her or anyone she cared for. If he then went and killed someone at random, she couldn’t be bothered to care. He would _love her_ , she was seeing that clearly now. She wanted it, _his love_ , more than she had wanted anything in her life.

          Her mother had been able to love a killer, after all. A monster, that had almost destroyed them all. A monster that had broken her eldest daughter in a way the girl herself could never imagine being _fixable_. A monster that most certainly hadn’t _loved_ her, nor had kept from harming her or her loved ones.

          Loving a killer that promised to never harm her or her loved ones seemed like a pretty nice deal in exchange. She was certainly willing to take the risk, and something deep within, as if coming from her soul–if there truly was such a thing as a _soul_ –resonated approvingly.

          She could regret her life choices in a future, if he ever broke his promise. There was no point in thinking about it at that precise moment.

          “I love you, too,” was all she could say.

          He bent down, taking her face between his hands and kissing her deeply on the lips, again, and she enjoyed the kiss, his adoration, his _love_.

          She was sure they made a darling couple, and indeed she never regretted her choices, taking risks with him, because every single day, he made it _worth it_. With him in her life, everything seemed brighter, more colourful, _better_. Soon enough she had moved fully with him, after several weeks of them just sleeping together in whichever house was closer. She told her mother that she was rooming with a friend, while readying to slowly introduce her beloved to her in such a way that her mother wouldn't be freaked out.

          Oh, but she _loved_ him, whispering sweet nothings to her ear at night, their bodies still warm and intertwined, as much as she loved him when they were _together_. But then, she had always loved his pretty words.

_“My sweet angel, from up on high. How I admire you... You have my world... I love you... Je t’aime... Ma petit chérie... Never leave me...never leave my side... I will never leave yours. You will always be in my heart... mon cœur...”_

 

          She loved him, and he loved her. So want did she care, if their love had been risky?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this ended up being more biographic than intended. But ahhh, that’s what I get for putting myself in the narrative. It’s a bit fictionalised, though. I don’t live alone, or in the same town I go to college in. I also could never do as in the game and just stay with a guy I just met without bothering to warn anyone. Scratch that, even if I warned her, my mother would still call the cops, lol. She’s kind of overprotective.


End file.
